


A Nasty Nest

by AWomanOfLetters



Category: Galavant (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Case Fic, Crack Crossover, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5931919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWomanOfLetters/pseuds/AWomanOfLetters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Seven Realms were supposed to have a happily ever after, but something dark and evil has arisen. King Richard and Galavant ask Dr. Sporin for help. What they get, though, is a pair of hardened Hunters, Sam and Dean Winchester, who find all the singing a bit much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean and Sam stalked quietly through the dim woods, machetes drawn.

The last vamp standing had broken in fear, darted out the back door of the farmhouse where the Nest had been holed up. They had plunged out after him, determined to kill him before he had a chance to escape. One living vamp meant the possibility - almost certainty - of a new Nest being formed. They couldn't allow that. A new Nest meant more dead people.

They moved between the trees, a hundred yards apart, senses on high alert. Dean was coming up on a small clearing, which brought with it the knowledge that it was an excellent spot for an ambush. He slowed. Sam backed toward him, scanning the twilight for any movement, machete at the ready. Dean stopped, waited. Sam sheathed the machete as he joined him, shaking his head.

"Gone," he said quietly.

"Goddammit!" Dean hissed. He eyed the clearing ahead of them narrowly. He glanced at Sam, jerked his head at it, lifted his eyebrows. Sam squinted, thought a moment, then nodded agreement. They moved together to the clearing, Dean scanning constantly to the left, Sam focusing to the right.

When they made it in, they stopped and stood a few minutes, on edge, alert for any indication the vamp was there. Nothing. No strange quick shadow sliding between or behind the trees. Just deepening gloom as the twilight faded toward darkness. Dean sat with a sigh on the huge boulder beside a tree. He sheathed his own machete with a slither and a clang, ran his hand across the nape of his neck, and blew his breath out loudly.

"Well, shit."

Sam had pulled out his flashlight, and paced the perimeter of the clearing, shining the light out between the trees and peering. A path bisected the clearing; he squinted down the part closest to him, then continued on. Then he stopped abruptly, shone the light on something close, and said, "Hunh. Dean. Take a look at this." Dean shot him a curious look, then got up and sauntered over.

The light shone on a signpost. The post had a sign with elegant calligraphy, neat and clearly legible, fastened with rustic iron nails.

"'The Forest of Coincidence'," he read out loud. "Really? This rag tag woods has a title? Jeez. They'll give anything a name these days."

Sam was still peering closely, examining the front and back of the sign with curiosity. Finally, he grimaced and shrugged. "Yeah, guess you're right. It's just...odd."

"Yeah, well, our lives are filled with 'odd', Sammy. Looks like our vamp gave us the slip. Time to head back, get us something to eat, and sack up for the night. Coming?"

Sam stood up, started to join him, when a sudden sound made them both freeze.

Bells. Small bells, jingling lightly, rhythmically, like footsteps. They drew back, side by side, unlimbered their weapons, and waited. The jingling came closer, down the path to the clearing. Sam focused his flashlight there.

A tall man walked into the light. He wore colorful clothes and a motley hat that sported small bells and a bright red pompon of yarn drooping off the side. He carried a pole; the pole was topped with a clown head and ribbons ending in yet more jingling bells.

Sam's eyes widened, his jaw clenched. He, swallowed, shuddered, and drew closer to Dean, but kept the flashlight aimed at the man.

The man stepped forward into the clearing, stopped, and struck a pose, pole planted firmly in the ground to his side.

Then he began singing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broadway singing. Mysterious musical accompaniment. And Cain. Cain?!

" _The wicked queen has fled_  
 _And Wormwood seems quite dead._  
 _All is looking very well_  
 _For Galavant_."

The singer swept an arm in a long gesture as he belted out the last phrase.

"Dude," Dean hissed to Sam. "What the ever-loving fuck?"

Sam's eyes were riveted on the clown -- jester, actually. Dean noted Sam's pale skin and quick breathing and started to say something, but the singer went on:

" _King Richard has his throne._  
 _His pal Gal and wife, they have a home._  
 _Everybody's living swell,_  
 _So is Galavant._ "

"Sam. It's not a clown. It's a jester. I think. It's...um...different. Relax." Sam kept his eyes pinned on the man and swallowed. Then he jerked his head in a quick, reluctant nod of agreement.

" _But then the deaths began..._  
 _And Gal's pal formed up a plan._  
 _Richard sent for Sporin_  
 _And for Galavant_."

"This. Is. Crazy. What, have we stumbled across some weird Broadway musical rehearsal?" Dean snarled. It was a catchy tune, though; he caught himself nodding in time without realizing it. Gritting his teeth, he called out, "Dude! Who are you, and what's with the damn singing?!"

The man held up a finger, drew another breath, and went into another verse.

" _Neo Sporin cast a spell_  
 _To find someone to help us well._  
 _And now I'm taking the two of you_  
 _To Galavant_."

He ended the song with enthusiasm, then stood there, looking at them expectantly.

The boys just gaped at him..

"Well? What are you waiting for?" the man asked finally. He folded his lips and gestured gracefully to the path. "The King and Sir Galavant are just down the path. Come on!" He waved at them, turned, and started back that way.

Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked back. Without a word, acting as one, they advanced on the singer, smashed him backward into a tree trunk. Dean drew his machete and held it at his throat. The pole clattered to the ground, bells jingling, and the man flinched at having two decidedly dangerous men peering at him from only a foot away. He whimpered.

"Who are you?" Sam asked in a harsh voice. "What are you doing here... _singing_ \-- " He sputtered the word out. " -- when there's a vampire hunting these woods?!" The singer's eyes widened.

"Vampire...?" he whispered.

Dean pressed with the machete. A thin line of blood sprang up on the man's neck. He tilted his head, peered at him thoughtfully. "Hey, here's a thought, Sam. Maybe this dude is a vampire, too..."

" _What_ \-- ?!" the man squeaked, jerking his head back and forth to look at both of them, trying to avoid the machete. "Me -- ?! No, no, you've got it all wr -- " He stopped as Dean pressed even harder.

Sam leaned forward, one arm resting on the tree trunk by the man's head, looming over him. "Maybe you should just cut his head off," he said, pursing his lips at Dean, eyebrows lifted.

"Cut -- ! My head -- !" the man gasped. Then he paled even further and slid bonelessly down the tree trunk, chin scraping past the machete, in a dead faint.

Dean looked down at him for a moment. Then he rubbed the back of his head. "Hunh. Guess not."

Sam looked down, too, forehead wrinkled in a puzzled frown. "Dean. What the hell?!"

"Damned if I know, Sammy." Dean looked around the clearing, frowning and chewing his lips. "This is totally weird." He sheathed the machete again. Sam's hand gripped his forearm.

"Are you sure you should do that?" He nodded at the weapon. "We may need them out..." Dean squinted at him, thought, then pulled it out once more.

"So..." He turned his attention to the path the man had come from. "Go check it out?" he asked. Sam nodded.

They started down the path. As they walked, a dim light began to illuminate the way before them with a warm glow; it grew brighter, and they entered a much larger clearing. Dean stopped dead, staring at the scene ahead of them.

"Holy shit. Moondor." His stomach tightened. They'd been to Moondor gatherings a few times while Charlie was still alive. But now she was dead, and things had been so grim and dark that they hadn't had a chance. Besides. Charlie. He hissed in a breath, punched the grief down ruthlessly. Vampires and Moondor was a bad combination; the gathering would be a total feast for vamps, what with everyone expecting a good time, role-playing, fake fights. They wouldn't know what to do with a real, live vampire cutting through them like a scythe.

"I'm not so sure, Dean..." Sam murmured, shrewd eyes taking in the torches, tents, sounds, smells, and spectacle before them. "Look. Horses." He pointed. Dean looked in that direction and frowned.

"Hunh." He chewed on it for a few moments. Real horses? In Moondor? Naw. Sam was right. This was something different.

"Another role-playing group?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so."

They had cautiously kept back at the edge of the clearing, out of sight. The view in front had captured their attention, so it took a moment for Dean's brain to register that some of the sounds he was hearing were behind them, not in front, and close. Very close. Without further warning, strong hands grabbed them, wrestled their machetes away, and pinned their arms behind their backs. Then they were being pushed forward into the light.

"Now, then, let's see what we've got 'ere. Who're you, and why're you lurkin' about like this, near King Richard's camp?" The voice was deep and rough, with an English accent. The man who spoke moved into view in front of them, and stood looking them over with arms crossed over very serious, very _real_ , leather and armor. Dean scanned him quickly, aware he was returning the favor. Not quite as tall as him. Muscular. Bald head. Scars. Shrewd eyes. Mid- to late-forties. Tough-looking customer.

He vaguely noticed Sam struggling against the arms holding him. He knew Sam's attention was focused as tightly as his was, and he probably was coming to the same conclusion: No role-playing going on here.

Baldy took a step forward, squinting dangerously at him. "Soldiers, yeah. C'n see that, fer sure. And maybe..." He stepped forward again, leaning his head in to Dean. "...just _maybe_...you two might know what happened to our King's Fool, too. Eh?" He accompanied the question with a quick, sharp poke of his fist to Dean's guts that took his breath away. Not a punch, but not gentle, either. "Fool's a nice enough fella. No good in a fight, but okay. Good singin' voice, and aces with Charades. If y've done anything to him..." He let his voice trail off.

This was definitely not a Good Situation.

Dean pointed back the way they had come with his head. "Tall guy? Hat with bells? Sort of...uh...colorful?"

Baldy's jaw moved sideways, as if he were chewing on something hard that didn't taste good. He nodded without a word, eyes cold.

"Uh. I think we scared him. He fainted."

Baldy squinted at him. Then his eyes shifted over his shoulder and he jerked his chin at someone behind him, indicating the path. Dean could hear leather creaking, armor clinking, footsteps moving off. Then Baldy spun around and started towards the tents, saying, "Bring 'em along." The hard hands shoved at his back, pushing him in that direction. The soldiers behind Sam did the same.

They ended up in front of the largest tent, one with multiple peaks. Each peak had a pennant flying. There were more soldiers milling about an open fire, who eyed them narrowly as they were shoved forward, through the opening of the tent. The soldiers holding them pushed them down to their knees on the floor in front of a long, dainty, gilded table.

A man stood behind the table, back to them. He had long, wavy, salt and pepper hair, and was dressed much more richly than the soldiers, in some medieval kind of clothes decorated with embroidery and gilt threading. He was wearing a...was that an actual crown?! And...and...did he have a sword belted at his side?!

Baldy cleared his throat. His face relaxed, with a hint of a fond expression. He said, gruffly, "Sire."

The man (king?!) turned around, saying lightly, "Ah! Gareth!"

Baldy -- Gareth -- was saying something in response, but Dean didn't hear it. He was frozen in place, a spike of fear and shock chilling him. He heard Sam gasp, stunned, beside him.

Cain. It was Cain.

He and Sam spoke at the same time.

"Cain!" Dean growled.

"But you're dead!" Sam choked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cain" tries to figure out where they met him. In a song. There's a brief mention of some murders, and how Dr. Sporin performed a spell to bring Sam and Dean there. And Dean introduces the idea of cheeseburgers.

"Hello!" The man who looked like Cain said brightly. "Do I know you?" The bushy eyebrows over his vivid blue eyes twitched together in a slightly puzzled frown. "I don't _think_ I do. Gareth, do I know these two fine fellows?"

Gareth frowned down at them. "Nah. Don't think so...Sire," he added as an afterthought.

"Well, I didn't think so, but I wasn't quite sure. Are _you_ sure?"

Gareth rolled his eyes. The...king?...held up a hand to stop him from saying anything. "Okay, okay. I was just checking! But they do seem to know _me_!" He leaned a hip on the table and peered at them, smiling slightly, like a child presented with a puzzle toy. He looked from Sam to Dean, eyes dancing. Dean closed his eyes, gave his head a sharp shake.

Cain. But not Cain.

"You _do_!" not-Cain crowed. He slapped his hands together, then held one up to forestall any words. "Wait, wait - don't tell me. I'll get it in a minute." He started striding up and down the tent. He stopped, pointed pressed-together hands at Dean.

And started singing.

" _I met you at the fair? Maybe I met you there?_ "

Dean blinked. Gareth chimed in, in a rough bass. " _No, Sire, it wasn't there._ " Not-Cain peered at him, ran a hand through his luxurious beard.

" _It wasn't there? Then where?_ "

" _I don't know, but it...was...n't...there._ " There was a beat between the two sentences, and a pause between each syllable of the second, and his gravelly voice dropped lower.

Dean stared, jaw dropped, then turned his head to Sam. Sam was staring in the same way, mouth moving as if he were trying to say something. He turned to look at Dean. He was mouthing, "What the fuck?!" Dean had to agree.

Not-Cain lifted a finger in inspiration. " _Ah! Maybe when I bought the mare?_ " his tenor sang out.

Gareth shook his head, started pacing beside the king. " _No, Sire, it wasn't there._ "

The king stopped and frowned at his companion. He repeated, " _It wasn't there? Then where?_ " Gareth shrugged broadly.

" _I don't know, but it...was...n't...there._ "

Not-Cain stopped to crouch down between Dean and Sam, pursed his lips, and glanced between them. Gareth stood behind him, hands on hips. Dean, somewhat lightheaded, felt like they had been stuffed into the strangest alternate universe possible, and wondered, briefly, if Gabriel was involved. Or maybe it was all just a weird dream brought on by the chili burger he'd had for lunch.

" _Could I have met you in Cheshire?_ " Dean winced and briefly closed his eyes at the mangling of the town name to fit the rhyme scheme. Gareth frowned and shook his head.

" _No, Sire, it wasn't there_." Not-Cain looked up at him and frowned back.

" _It wasn't there? Then where?_ "

This freakish singing conversation was too much. Dean surged up. Or tried to. Soldiers' hands slammed down on his shoulders, thrust him back into the kneeling position. One of them put an arm around his neck, choking off his sputtering attempt to stop the singing. Gareth glared at him, and gritted out - still in tune - " _I don't know, but it...was...n't there._ " Then he snarled, in a normal voice, "Don't y'two be gettin' any ideas!" He went on, " _I don't think you've met them anywhere!_ "

Not-Cain threw up his hands, then clapped them on his knees and stood up. " _Not here? Not there? Then where?_ "

Gareth ground his teeth. " _I don't know. Maybe...not...an...y...where!_ " he finished with frustration.

The sourceless musical accompaniment, which Dean realized had been playing while the two were singing, came to a crashing end. Not-Cain moved back to the table, hitched his hip up on it again. "Well. This is most odd."

"Tell me about it," Dean muttered, eyes darting from one loony-tune to the next. The arm around his neck tightened up again.

The king waved an irritated hand at the soldier doing the choking. The arm suddenly relaxed, and Dean drew in a gasping breath.

"Dean! Are you all right?!" Sam's voice was urgent and concerned.

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"Dean? Sammy? I _really_ don't think I've met anyone with those names - "

"'Sam'," Sam grated out, eyes narrowed.

But not-Cain didn't hear him because an astonishingly handsome black-haired man with a trim beard and equally rich clothing - he was even more Blue Steel than _they_ were, Dean thought - had come into the main room of the tent, and interrupted them all. "Richard." His exasperation came through loud and clear. "Dr. Sporin? Remember? Spell? To get us help with the murders?"

Dean's eyes darted to this new man. Murders? Sam's eyes were fixed on him, too, forehead wrinkled in a frown.

The king - King Richard? - looked at him. "Oh. Right. Right! Yes! The spell!" He leaned forward to Dean, and said, in a confidential tone, "We've been having these nasty murders. Just awful!" He shuddered. "Nobody knows what's going on. So Gal, here - Galavant - called in Dr. Sporin for help. And Dr. Sporin did some sort of spell - " He waved his hands wordlessly. "And - well! Here you are. To help us." He regarded them happily.

Dean closed his eyes. He was putting his thoughts together, just about ready to tear these madmen a new one, when Sam started it for him.

"You did a spell," he bit out. "To bring us here." His lips were tight. He was starting that muscle-beside-his-nose-twitch and huffing combination that meant he was furious. "Wherever ' _here_ ' is." He swept his hand to encompass the tent and everything outside it. "Did it ever occur to you that we might be - that we might not want to - " His voice was rising, and he couldn't finish any of his sentences.

Dean interrupted, loudly. "Dudes! We were in. The. Middle. Of. Killing. Vampires. Where we come from! To save people! _Where we come from!_ " He stood up, took an angry step forward, and shook a finger at the king, this Galavant dude, and Gareth equally. Gareth automatically stepped between him and the king. "And one of those vamps got away! And he's going to go killing innocent people. _Where we come from_!" He stabbed the finger at the king, then at Gareth, then Galavant. "People are going to _die_ because of you!"

The king's eyes fell, and he tugged at his collar. Galavant looked away. Gareth bared his teeth at Dean and growled. Dean growled right back.

"People are going to die here, too, if we don't figure out what's going on," Galavant finally said quietly. His eyes flicked up to them.

Sam visibly forced himself to relax, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Okay. Well. If we're stuck here, we might as well help." Then his head snapped up, and he glared at the king, "I _assume_ you can send us back when we're done?"

There was a long silence. King Richard looked at Galavant. Galavant looked at the floor and whistled tunelessly. Gareth folded his arms, leaned his head back and stared grimly at the ceiling. Dean focused on Sam, stricken. He hadn't even considered that possibility. What if they were _stuck_ in this insane asylum?!

Galavant sat up straight, and called out, "Sporin! Dr. Sporin! We need to talk with you." He waited a minute, then grumbled, "Dammit! Where is the man?"

A short, slender, dark-skinned young man with a sunny smile and a truly impressive, neat afro, popped his head in from the next room over in the tent. "I can go get him if you'd like, sir?"

"Do it, Sid!" Galavant snapped.

"Yessir!" The young man ducked back out.

The silence returned. They waited.

Dean's stomach growled. Sam shot him a glance.

"What?! I'm hungry!" He looked around the tent, spotting dirty dishes sitting on the table. Well, at least it looked like these singing idiots ate. "So. You guys got any cheeseburgers here?"

"'Cheeseburgers'...?" the king repeated curiously.

"Yeah. Hamburgers with cheese." He was met with blank stares. "Ground beef patty?" he prompted. Gareth's head tilted back down and his sunken eyes focused on him. "Grilled? On a bun?" Galavant licked his lips. "With cheese and slices of bacon?" The king leaned forward, entranced. "Lettuce? Tomatoes? Mustard?" The three men slid forward a step or two, and the soldiers who had been holding him and Sam down moaned hungrily behind him.

"That sounds...really... _very_ tasty..." King Richard said softly, eyes awestruck. There were murmurs of agreement. Sam groaned and leaned his head in his hands. The king blinked at them, drew a deep breath, and called out, "Chef! _Chef_! I have an assignment for you!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chef learns about burgers and chips. A murderous song. How the people died. And a dragon.

The chef was a short, scrawny man with a blunt fringe of bangs, apparently named Vicenzo. Dean gaped at Sam and mouthed, " _Vicenzo_?!"; if ever a name seemed mismatched to its owner, it was that. The chef listened intently to Dean's description of cheeseburgers, head tilted to the side like a bird. Dean added, "And some chips!" to his description, which apparently mystified everyone again, so he had to explain those, too. The chef's eyes widened, then he nodded and scuttled off.

The king shouted after him, "And make enough of these...these...'cheeseburgers' for Tad Cooper, too!" Gareth and Galavant rolled their eyes. Dean glanced at Sam, eyebrows lifted in inquiry; Sam just grimaced and shrugged. Oh, well. They'd find out soon enough.

After a very long and quiet hour, the chef wheeled in an ornate cart with an enormous heap of what looked like cheeseburgers on a silver platter. It looked like a lot of food for just three -- he paused his thoughts to look at Sid, who was standing behind Galavant, and amended that to four -- men to eat. He and Sam joined Richard, Galavant, and Gareth at the table, giving the king a sidelong look. The man still gave him the heebie-jeebies because of his resemblance to Cain.

Dean grabbed one of the burgers and started to eat. He mumbled around a mouthful of the truly excellent burger, "So. Tell us about these murders."

He heard the sound of leather creaking and booted feet entering the tent. He stiffened and slid a glance around, to see a line of soldiers crowding up against the wall of the tent. The men stood in silence for a moment, then linked arms, and every other man started pumping up and down slowly at the knees. As they rose, the other soldiers would sink. They were chanting in low, quiet voices, in synch with the movement of their bodies:

" _Dum. De-dum. De-doot-doot-diddy-dum. Dum. De-dum. De-doot-doot-diddy-dum._ " It seemed vaguely familiar to him.

Gareth stood up, propped his foot up on his chair, pointed a finger at them. " _Summer killin', had me a blast --_ " his gruff voice sang out.

Galavant slid up onto the table between where Sam and Dean were seated. " _Summer killing - it happened so fast --_ " his tenor chimed in sadly.

" _There were bodies strewn on th'ground --_ " Gareth continued.

" _Stiffened bodies heaped in a mound --_ "

"Can't you folks just answer a simple question without the bloody God-damned sing-along?!" Dean grumbled.

Richard drew back slightly and gave him a wide-eyed, somewhat hurt, look. "Well! _Rude_! Do _we_ tell _you_ how to talk?" He answered his own question. "No, we do not!" He circled a finger in a "continue" gesture at Galavant and Gareth. Gareth squinted at Dean, harrumphed, and went on.

" _Lotsa bodies, rottin' away --_ " he sang thoughtfully.

" _So it's all a big mystery..._ " Galavant crooned, pitch rising, his last word drawing out.

The soldiers all growled out, " _Well-ah well-ah well-ah..._ "

Dean frowned at them. "Tell us more." Sam snorted, choked, and gave Dean a look. Dean transferred his frown to him. "What?!" He shook his head, turned back to the two tale-spinners. "Tell us more. Like, evidence of bites? We need more, lots more. Signs of a fight?" Sam threw his head back and howled with laughter, thumping a fist on the table. Dean's frown deepened.

"Dude! You okay? What's the matter? Dammit, there's nothing funny about this -- they're talking about _murder_!"

" _Dean_ \-- !" Sam snorted again, wiped his eyes, and croaked, "Dean. Haven't you watched 'Grease'?"

Dean blinked at him. "Of course I have!" he said, offended. "What's that got to do with anything?" He grabbed another cheeseburger from the pile, took a bite, dismissed Sam's weirdness, and waved the burger at Gareth and Galavant. "Go on. Ignore my brother." Of course, what Sam had said echoed in his mind, and he ground his teeth when he finally understood what he had been getting at. No wonder the soldiers' chorus had been familiar...

Galavant sang, " _We checked it out; took us some days_."

Gareth nodded, added, " _All them bodies, wastin' away. Got kinda stinky out on that plain..._ "

" _Then evidence washed away in some rain._ " Galavant shook his head and folded his lips. " _And more bodies started to show..._ " His singing slowed mournfully.

" _We didn't like it, guess you could know,_ " Gareth sang gloomily, frowning, and his voice cracked on the higher note.

Dean leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. "Well. Uh," he started. Then he fell silent for a moment. "Well. Uh." Sam sniggered. Dean glared at him, realized what he was laughing about, and deliberately tried to break out of the hypnotic lyrics trance he seemed to have fallen into. "Look. Guys. We need details here. Details. Specifics." He checked his memory of the song, and decided that he had, indeed, broken the rhythm. Maybe everyone would stop singing now, and they could get down to business.

Sam's lips were still twitching, but he nodded agreement, pushing his long hair out of his face. "Yeah. So far, we've got that you found a heap of dead bodies on a plain, the rain washed away any evidence, and then more bodies showed up. Right?" He looked around the table. Dean gave him a quick thumbs-up at the summary.

Gareth sighed, pulled his foot off the chair, and sat down, glaring gloomily at the burgers. "Yeah. Not much more'n that." He reached out, grabbed one, and bit into it. After chewing a moment, his eyes lit up. "Now _that_ right there is some damn fine food!" he exclaimed.

Galavant slid off the table and returned to his chair beside Richard. He leaned back, all nonchalant, lean, handsome grace, and frowned into space. Richard leaned to him, nudged him with an elbow, and whispered loudly, "Gal. These 'potato chip' things are simply delightful. You need to try them!" He turned his frown on the king, reached forward to pluck a chip out of the bowl, and held it between two fingers, eyeing it suspiciously. Richard elbowed him again. "Go ahead! Try it! I bet you can't eat just one!"

No, not Cain, Dean thought.

"Oh, very well," Galavant muttered, and popped it into his mouth. A moment later, his eyes opened wide, and he quickly shoveled a handful of the chips onto his plate and started eating them with gusto. In between crunchy mouthfuls, he said, "So that's what we've got for you."

Dean regarded him sourly. "Hunh. Dead bodies and not much else. Any indication of how they died? Bites, claw marks, heart missing, part of the brain missing?"

All three seated men, plus Sid, standing behind Galavant, froze and stared at him with disgusted grimaces. Galavant stopped chewing. Richard shuddered. "Brain missing?! Ew. Did you have to say that while we're eating?"

 _Really_ not Cain.

Galavant started chewing again, and added, as an afterthought, "Oh, we know _how_ they died, just not what did it."

Dean and Sam focused on him as one, and waited. He grabbed some more chips from the bowl and popped another into his mouth. They waited some more. Finally, tired of the silence, Dean drummed his fingers on the table. "Ooookay. Care to share with the rest of us? Like, sometime soon?"

"What?" Galavant looked up, noticed their keen attention. "Oh! Sorry. Didn't we mention it?" Sam folded his lips and shook his head, exasperated. Dean growled under his breath. "Stone. They were turned to stone."

"Right petrified," Gareth added darkly, and plucked another cheeseburger from the pile. The pile didn't look any smaller than when they had started eating. Who the hell was supposed to be eating all this food?

Richard made a moue of agreement and nodded. "Hard as rock, poor fellas." His voice was mournful and his face was sad.

"Stone. Turned to stone. Awesome," Dean said.

Sam leaned back in his chair, tilted his head up, stared at the roof of the tent, and thought for a moment. Then he slid his eyes toward his brother. "Medusa?"

Dean rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe."

"Then we'll need a mirror. Or a reflective shield..."

"Mmm," Dean murmured in agreement.

Richard looked from one brother to the other. He raised his eyebrows, smiled widely, and said cheerily, "Splendid! You have a plan! So, now...would you like to help me feed Tad Cooper some of these delicious cheeseburgers?"

Galavant, Gareth, and Sid rolled their eyes in unison. "Richard, not everyone wants to admire your dragon," Galavant said.

 _Dragon_?!

"'Sides, ain't enough," Gareth added. "Should have a sheep." He stood up, rubbed his belly, then stretched. "These cheeseburger things'll just take the edge off his appetite."

"I'd get you a sheep, Sire, but...we're running out of sheep," Sid said apologetically. Richard's face fell. "But I'm sure we can figure something else out!" he added quickly.

They were seriously discussing the logistics of feeding a dragon. A _dragon_?! Besides...

"Don't dragons have a...a hangup on virgins?" Dean asked. "Sheep and cheeseburgers...they do the job here?"

"Tad Cooper is quite happy with his sheep, I assure you!" Richard chirped. He stood up and motioned to them. "Oh, come! You'll like him! And he's _not_ \-- " He folded his lips and glared at Galavant. " _Not_ 'just a lizard', like _some_ people claimed!"

Galavant snorted. "You just won't let me live that down, will you?" he grumbled.

"Come on!" the king coaxed. "And someone grab that platter!" He motioned to them again, and strode out of the tent. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

Galavant flapped his hands at them. "Oh, for God's sake, go and admire his damned dragon!" he snapped. "He has to show him off to everyone!" Gareth grunted agreement; he was using a wicked-looking knife as a toothpick to remove stuck bits of burger. Sam flipped a dubious eyebrow up at Dean, who shrugged.

"Okay, then. Let's go see this dragon, " he said. They got up and exited the tent, following after Richard. Sid grabbed the tray and came with.

The king was standing by the fire. Dean noted that all the soldiers who had been gathered there before were now standing a safe distance away, looking nervously into the night. "Tad Cooper!" the king called out. "Tad! C'm'ere, boy!"

There was a loud, slow flapping noise that grew louder as it neared them. The soldiers stepped even further back. A breeze morphed into a strong, rhythmic wind that batted at the fire. A huge shadow stooped down and landed. A stocky, tan, lizard-like head the size of a car swung toward the king, and huge beady eyes focused on him. "There's my Tad Cooper! Who's a _good_ dragon, now?" the king crooned happily, reaching up to scratch around the spikes that decorated the head.

It was, indeed, a dragon. Not _their_ kind of dragon, human with molten eyes and burning hands, but a huge lizard creature with wings, just like in the fairy tales.

Dean gulped and watched nervously as the king began tossing burgers into the gaping maw. The burgers looked awfully...small...all of a sudden.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gala ant and Richard come up with a plan. Dean and Sam reluctantly agree. There is discussion of the hero-certifying organization.

After the dragon feeding, the group rode to a castle. On horses.

Dean swore his ass and legs would never recover. He thought back to when he and Sam had traveled to the 1860s, and how he had sent Sam off on a morning-long horseback ride to get the magical Colt from Samuel Cold himself. He sent silent apologies Sam's way.

They were given a room with two beds, a sitting area, and a huge fireplace. And a manservant, who bowed and scraped and asked if they needed anything. Dean sent him on his way with a snarl and stood looking after him for a few minutes. The sound of someone singing " _I'm gonna wash that lice right outta my hair..._ " drifted down the hallway. He slammed the door shut, strode to one of the chairs before the fire, and flopped down into it, mind still whirling. Sam walked over, propped a foot on the hearth of the fireplace, and leaned against the stone wall, staring blindly at the flames.

"Sam."

Sam turned to look at him.

He opened his mouth, started to say something, then closed it. Sam's lips twitched.

"Kind of overwhelming, isn't it?" he said softly.

"Uh. 'Overwhelming' is putting it lightly, dude. And we still don't know if they can send us back!" He looked around the room. "Nice enough, if you like medieval decor, sure. But live here? Forever? No, thanks."

"Well. We can wait until they locate that Dr. Sporin guy," Sam said. "And if he can't send us back..."

"Then we raise hell." Dean nodded. "Okay. In the meantime, we have...what? A Medusa? Maybe? Easy enough to take care of."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "We have to find her first."

"Hunh." Dean leaned an elbow on the chair arm and a fist on the elbow.

Sam dropped into the chair opposite him, stretched his long legs out, and frowned. "We're kind of stymied without the bunker and our lore books. We have to go on memory -- "

A knock on the door interrupted him. Before either of them could call out, the door opened. Galavant stood there in a momentary pose, then slouched gracefully against the door-frame. The king's head popped out over his shoulder; Richard smiled and wiggled his fingers at them. Dean gave them a flat, unwelcoming stare.

"No singing," he said, to forestall anything. Richard pouted. The two of them stepped in, Galavant draping himself across the edge of the fireplace, where Sam had been draped only moments before, and Richard pulled up a stool and perched on it.

"So!" Richard announced brightly. "We thought that tomorrow the lot of us would go out to the plain where we found the bodies -- as good a place to start as any, eh?"

"On horses?" Dean objected.

Richard just blinked at him, puzzled. "Of course...?" Dean slumped down further in the chair, mourning the state of his balls. "We could always see if Tad Cooper would take us..." the king suggested. Dean flinched and quickly shook his head at the thought.

Too late. Richard was staring dreamily into space. "Gal! We could ride Tad Cooper into battle! Our foes would flee at the very sight!" Galavant dropped his face into his palm. Richard went on, coaxingly, "Oh, but, just think of all the songs that would be sung about it! The noble king -- astride a dragon -- his valiant knight beside him -- !"

Galavant lifted his head, staring into space consideringly. "A hero's steed..."

"Okay, enough," Dean barked. "We're not riding dragons. No way."

Richard gave him a disapproving look. "Y'know, for heroes yourselves, you have absolutely no sense of adventure -- "

"Heroes?!" Sam snorted. Richard turned his brilliant blue eyes to him.

"Well, yes. Dr. Sporin specified that we'd get heroes. You...aren't heroes...?"

Sam stared into space, eyes unfocused, rubbing a fist up and down his thighs. "Dean. Aren't Medusas lured by heroes? Warriors, saviors, that kind of thing?"

Galavant straightened, interested. "You need a hero to go after this thing?" He looked at the king. "After all...we have not one, but two, certified heroes here."

Dean said, faintly, "'Certified' heroes...?"

Richard nodded. "Oh, yes! Galavant has been an AHK-certified hero for years now, and I just got on the list this last year, for killing Wormwood and saving the realm!" He blushed and preened a bit. Galavant smiled indulgently.

"'AHK'...? They _certify_ heroes?!"

"Association of Heroic Knights," Galavant said. "What? Don't _you_ have a certifying body? They publish a directory every year for damsels in distress, rebels in overthrown monarchies, that sort of thing. Otherwise any old knight with a sword and a horse and a squire could claim to be a hero and botch everything up..." Dean and Sam simply shook their heads. Galavant raised eyebrows in surprise. "Tch. Poorly managed. But -- " He clapped his hands together with an expression of eagerness. " -- We have the heroes -- " He gestured at himself and the king. " -- We know where the creature was at least a week ago. We go there, Richard and I lure it out, you do your thing with mirrors, and there we go! Eh?"

"Sounds like a plan." Dean didn't sound particularly enthusiastic; he was more resigned at this point.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More singing?! A gallop to the scene of the crime, a runaway horse, and a discovery.

After a night filled with Sam bitching and moaning about how really, _really_ short the beds were, Dean was actually glad to be on a horse again, waiting in the castle yard to ride off to the Plain of Death. (He could hear the capital letters when Galavant told them where they were going.) The horse he was sitting on kept shuffling around, tossing its head and turning it back to him with an evil look in its eye. He glared back it it and it snorted contemptuously.

For some reason, Sam was much better situated, and _his_ horse waited patiently. No head-tossing or dancing around there. Dean shot him a jaundiced look.

"So when'd you get so good with horses, Sammy?"

Sam just smiled into the distance, reminiscing. "It was an elective at Stanford. Counted as phys-ed. Took it a bunch of times. Nice way to mentally go over stuff before a test, y'know?"

"No. I don't know," Dean answered grumpily. "The way this beast is behaving, I'd never be able to think about anything else but staying on!"

Sam looked at him and grinned. He was about to say something when Galavant and King Richard steered their horses out of the stable to join them.

"Well, well, our foreign investigators are up and about, ready to get to work!" The king beamed at them, happy to see them ready to go.

"So I see," Galavant said, reining his horse around. He skewered them with a look, lifted his head in a hero's pose, and called out, "Shall we ride?" Dean was about to respond when the mysterious musical accompaniment began once more. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he opened them wide, startled, as Galavant and Richard started their horses cantering toward the gate and his own horse shot after them.

Galavant was singing. Again. " _Shall...we...ride?_ " The invisible strings played a punctuating dance rhythm after the phrase. " _On a gallant steed of fashion shall we ride?_ "

Outside the gate, the horses stretched out into a gallop. Sam's long mahogany hair streamed out behind him. Dean held on grimly, jaw working as he listened to these madmen belting out yet another song.

" _Let us see this scene of gloom upon the Plain,_ " Richard sang, a bright, interested expression on his face.

Gareth joined in. " _On the side...are lots of bodies cold and petrified!_ " He seemed positively overjoyed at the thought. The music, light and bouncy and fit for dancing, was outrageously out of place for the words. Dean shook his head and focused on not falling off.

" _Let us ride there together...with our swords couched at the ready_ ," Galavant called to them. Somehow, he managed to strike a pose while riding. Dean assumed it was the result of practice. Lots of practice.

" _And will we be the next to die?_ " Gareth burbled. He sounded glad. Dean swore he had never met anyone quite so happy at the prospect of mayhem, pain, and death as the battle-scarred soldier.

" _With that possible dire outcome, on a gallant steed of fashion, shall we ride, shall we ride, shall we ride?_ " Galavant drew the last phrase out. The accompaniment continued with the melody as they galloped on.

"So. Y'all done with the song? Can we actually, y'know, _talk_ now? Like, can Sam and I get some notion of how long this ride is gonna be?" Richard pulled his horse over to ride beside him.

"Oh, it's not long!" he said cheerfully. "Two, three hours?" Dean flinched. Sam grinned at him again, face glowing with happiness; he was moving with the horse like a centaur, all natural and fluid. Damn. He _really_ liked riding. Why hadn't he said anything about this in the past ten years? It was like a secret side of Sammy coming out. Dean wasn't sure he approved. Though, given their history...well, what was yet another secret?

* * *

Almost exactly three hours later, at the edge of a wide, rolling plain, the king, Galavant, and Gareth started slowing their horses to a walk. Dean's horse, feeling inexperienced hands on the reins, kept galloping. "Whoa! Whoa!" He turned his head to see the group dwindling behind him. "Goddammit, I said _whoa_!" Nothing happened; his horse just kept going. Then he heard another horse pounding up beside him. It was Sam, howling with laughter. He pulled alongside Dean's horse, grabbed the reins, and brought his own horse to a stop. Dean's horse, anchored, came to a stop, too, flicking irritated ears back and snorting. Dean glared at his brother.

"So let me get this straight. You rode these things for _fun_?!"

Sam grinned and nodded. "Yup. And a good thing I did, too, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. If you can get this beast from hell to go back..." Sam kneed his horse up against Dean's, pressing it around, headed back to the group waiting behind them. The trotted sedately back.

"That was exciting!" King Richard called as they came into earshot. Galavant lifted an amused eyebrow.

"What -- don't you ride horses where you come from?"

Dean narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Hey. I can do a 180 in reverse in my Impala. I'd like to see you do that! Now that the horsey adventure is over...Let's take a look at your dead bodies." He turned the horse -- very cautiously -- and looked out over the plain. He frowned in puzzlement. "I thought there was supposed to be a 'heap of bodies'...I don't see a heap anywhere."

King Richard coughed genteelly and pointed. If Dean squinted hard, he could see a trail of what looked like stone sculptures.

"Let's get closer," Dean muttered. Everyone started their horses moving again, headed to the statues, Sam being sure to stay close to Dean.

He leaned over and said quietly, "Your horse would have slowed down and come back. Eventually. Horses are herd beasts."

"That doesn't really reassure me, dude," Dean hissed. Sam snickered. Dean rolled his eyes.

When they got to the first one, everyone swung off their horses. Dean at least tried to. But as he stood up on the one leg and tried to swing the other behind him and over his horse's rump, he whimpered; both legs felt frozen. He settled for dragging his left leg across the horse, and fell into a heap on the ground when he put his weight on it.

"Holy _shit_! I'm lame for life! Sammy, gimme a hand here, would ya?" He grabbed the hand Sam held out for him and staggered up, then leaned on him while hobbling to where the others were waiting. With each step, spikes of pain shot through his legs. "God damn! Sam, how long is it going to hurt like this?!" he muttered.

"Keep walking. It's the best way to stretch them out."

They walked up to the stone body on the ground, and Sam crouched down slowly, letting Dean sink slowly down with him. Dean scanned the plain around them while Sam looked over the body. Richard and Galavant peered with interest. Gareth stood behind the group, eyes flicking watchfully around them.

"I thought there was a heap. A heap of rotting stone bodies. There's a trail, yeah, but no heap. And this body ain't gonna be rotting any time soon," Dean observed.

"Poetic license. 'Aven't y'ever 'eard of poetic license?" Gareth snarled behind him. "A 'eap o' bodies fit the song better."

Dean swiveled to look at him, biting his lip to stifle his yelp of pain. "So...what? Not only do you sing your conversations, but they're not accurate, to boot?"

Gareth sniffed. "A 'eathen like you just wouldn't understand," he said loftily.

"Dean. Take a look at this," Sam said. Dean shuffled closer, peered down.

"What?"

"Well...if it was a Medusa...wouldn't there be a look of terror on this guy's face? He looks more...surprised...to me," Sam said. Dean looked closer. Sam was right -- the stone mouth was slightly agape, the eyebrows arched. No grimace of fear, that was for sure.

"Hunh. Let's look at the next one." He staggered up, leaned on Sam's shoulder again, and shuffled with him to the next body, twenty feet away. They crouched down to look, and, sure enough, more surprise on this stout farm wife's stone face. Sam sat back on his heels, his hands dangling between his knees, looking at the statue on the ground. Dean levered himself upright and stood looking down the trail of bodies with a frown.

"Sammy. I don't think it was a Medusa. They _would_ be in a heap, all hit at once, and frozen in fear, if it was. It's gotta be something else." Sam nodded in absent agreement. "But _what_?"

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trail of bodies leads to an abandoned farmhouse, and a very unusual flock of chickens.

They followed the trail of stone bodies for what seemed like hours. At least the long walk, leading the horses between bodies, stretched the kinks out of Dean's legs. He thought he might actually _not_ be lame for life, after all. Then they went up a slow rise, and at the top, peered down into a gentle swale, with a tidy farmhouse in the middle. A barn was off to one side, and the area between had been roughly fenced in. A flock of brightly colored chickens pecked and scratched in the yard, with a rooster strutting around guarding them.

Dean peered beyond the house, eyes flicking across the scrubby grassland. "Hunh...looks like this is the end of the trail." He shot a glance at Sam, whose lips folded with determination as he nodded back. Both became more alert and wary, scanning the house, barn and yard, as they moved forward quietly. Sam slowly pulled out his machete. Dean pointed with a quick, two-fingered gesture to the house, a nod indicating that he'd check the barn.

Their quiet, cautious walk forward was ruined by Richard, coming up behind Dean and peering with bright, interested eyes over his shoulder. "What? You two just suddenly turned into hunters -- right before our eyes! Astonishing! Should _we_ be tiptoeing, too?"

Gareth hissed a quick shushing noise, shooting the king a reprimanding look.

Dean stopped dead, dropped his head, sighed, shook it, and then lifted it again. He stared at the scene in front of them, and gritted out, "We _were_ going to go in there _quietly_ , see if we could flush the monster out. But I guess that's a no-go now. Right?" He glared at the king.

"Oh. Oh, dear." Richard's mouth dropped open. "Oh, my. I do apologize! But I've never really been a hunter; spent all my formative years being king, y'know." His head drooped, his long, lavish hair falling around his face. He looked so hang-dog that Dean couldn't stay angry. He clapped Richard on the shoulder.

"S'all right, man. The whatever-it-is is probably long gone. No harm, no foul. Sammy!" Sam relaxed, re-sheathed his machete, and strode back to them. "Guess we'll just check everything out without the sneaking..." Sam gave him a rueful nod. "So. C'mon."

They all headed to the gate. Sid dashed before them, opened it, and gestured them in with a sweeping bow. He commented to Dean, as he passed, "I do like to at least do _something_!" Dean grinned back.

They all stopped at the edge of the yard, watched as the chickens scattered away from them, clucking nervously. The rooster, more bold, planted himself between them and his harem, began strutting back and forth, giving them a dangerous look from beady black eyes.

"Now _that_ is a handsome bird!" Richard commented. "Big, too..."

Gareth worked his jaw, eyeing it. "Just a rooster, Sire. Nasty critters. Got all clawed up by one when I were just a lad." He glared at the bird, fondling his sword hilt.

"Oh, lighten up, Gary! If everyone here is dead, these poor things must be starving." He turned to Galavant, eyes lighting up. "Gal! The castle needs a flock -- "  Galavant just shook his head fondly.

"Um. Actually, Sire, no, it doesn't," Sid murmured softly. He tilted his head back, stared at the sky, pursing his lips. "Buuut...Maybe there are some sheep?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Nonsense! We can always use more chickens!" Richard stepped forward, but was stopped by Sam's arm thrust across his chest. Sam was frowning at the birds.

"That's not a rooster," he said. "It has...it has...a tail?"

They all stopped to look more closely.

It was, in fact, quite beautiful. Its neck and back were iridescent blue-black, shining in the sunlight. The crest was a striking black and orange, raised now at the perceived danger. Its wings were orange and red, with cream and black under feathers peeking through. But. As Sam had pointed out, it had a tail. A long, lizard-like tail.

"Now, even _I_ know that's not right," Galavant murmured, frowning at it.

"And look at its chest," Sam added quietly. "And legs." Its chest was bright cream in color, but there were no feathers; it looked like very fine lizard scales. The black legs had no feathers, either, and were extremely muscular.

"Why -- it's like a little, feathered mini-dragon!" the king crowed.

Galavant rolled his eyes. "We already have one dragon at the castle. Richard. We don't need another, no matter how small it is," he pointed out. Richard looked at him with a wide, delighted smile.

"Yes! Don't you see? Tad Cooper is lonely! He needs a pet! We can bring this flock of -- of whatever-they-ares back, and Tad can have fun chasing after his pet -- pet -- So what is it?" he finally concluded.

While they had been talking, the rooster-thing had been watching, and slowly pacing closer. At this point, it fluffed its feathers threateningly and spread its wings wide. Sam and Dean swiftly drew their machetes, ready to deal with it if it flew at them, but instead it started dragging the tips of its wings in the dust of the farmyard, stalking in a circle. The cream chest started growing, inflating like a cream-colored lizard-skin balloon, to the point that it was twice as wide as originally. Then it stopped pacing, fixed its beady eyes on them, and started booming in a startlingly deep bass chant, " _IiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM! IiiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM! IiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM ayoungandhandsome, ayoungandhandsome, ayoungandhandsome coooooOCK-a-TRICE!_ " The invisible orchestra that seemed to be everywhere in this strange place punctuated the chant with eight rapid, discordant chords. Everyone stared at the rooster-thing, astonished.

Dean closed his eyes. In a resigned voice, he said, "Right. Even the fucking _birds_ sing in this place."

Sam snickered. "Birds sing everywhere, Dean." He winked. Dean glared at him, offended.

"Not like _that_ , they don't!" he snarled.

"This is...most unusual!" Richard breathed in awe. "I _must_ have it for Tad!"

The rooster started pacing again, in the other direction. Then it inflated its throat and chest again. " _Aaaaaand! Aaaaaand! Iamawesome, Iamawesome, Iamawesome aaaaaaaaand FIERCE_!" The rooster-thing stopped again, skewering them with its eyes.

"Fierce." Dean's jaw worked. "Yeah, right. I'll 'fierce' you, you goddamned -- " He took a step forward, but Sam gripped his arm, held him back.

"Dean. It's a cockatrice! That's what's been turning everyone into stone!" he hissed. Dean stopped dead.

" _That_ thing?! Dude. It's tiny!"

"Well. Not exactly 'tiny'," Galavant observed, with a thoughtful tilt of an eyebrow. "Not _big_ , mind you. But -- "

The cockatrice started pacing again. Its wingtips stirred up little puffs of dust as they dragged on the ground. " _Aaaaaand! Aaaaaand! Iwillprotectmymates, Iwillprotectmymates, Iwillprotectthem from eeeeveryTHING!_ "

"So why isn't it turning _us_ to stone?" Galavant asked, curious. Dean's head whipped around. Their eyes locked. Now that he thought about it...

"That's a very good question," he murmured in answer.

The cockatrice took a step toward them. " _Buuuuuut! Buuuuuut! Weareveryhungry, weareveryhungry, weareveryhungry riiiiiiight NOW!_ " It stopped and stared at them. The invisible orchestra unexpectedly crashed out the eight rapid chords again. They all jumped, startled. The cockatrice moved forward another step.

"Oh! He's hungry! Poor little fella!" the king crooned, taking a step forward. Gareth's jaw worked; he looked at his king with exasperation.

"Moit I remind you -- Sire! --that that 'poor little fella' offed about twenty people?!" he ground out.

"Aw. I'm sure he didn't mean to!"

" _WAFNA_!" the cockatrice cried out loudly, wailing. The hens in the background repeated it in chorus, and the orchestra joined in. " _WAFNA_!" The hens sang it again with the orchestra.

Sam was listening, head cocked to the side, a thoughtful frown on his face. Dean elbowed him. "What the hell is 'vafna'?"

"I recognize this piece," Sam murmured. "It's from the 'Carmina Burana'..."

"Carmina what-ana? Sam. What's 'vafna'?!"

"Woe."

"Whoa?"

Sam slid him a repressive look. "Woe. Sorrow. Sadness. That kind of 'woe'."

"Oh. _Woe_."

The cockatrice drooped down, settling its chest onto the dirt, black and orange wings spreading out around him like a puddle. No inflated chest this time; it just moaned, " _We are all sooooo huuungry!_ " The hens sang out " _WAFNA! WAFNA! WAFNA!_ " The orchestra crashed in the background. " _Pleeeeeeeeease, Pleeeeeeeeease, feeeeeed us!_ " Four 'wafnas' came from the hens, lamenting loudly, then there was a pause, the orchestra crashed, and the hens sang, " _HA-HA!_ " Then everything was quiet.

The cockatrice peered at them with its beady eyes, waiting. The hens crowded close behind it, all snuggled into the dust, their eyes on the group, too.

"Great," Dean muttered to Sam. " _Now_ what?!"

**A/N: The cockatrice is singing 'Ego Sum Abbas' from the 'Carmina Burana'. For a nice interpretation, go here: http://youtu.be/BTzGqnOx_rc. My pastiche is not quite correct on the phrasing, sorry! And many, many thanks to IowanCorn on AO3, for suggesting the monster sing, too, and whose idea of plainsong made me think of the Abbot's Song.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cockatrice tells his tale of woe. King Richard negotiates with it (he *really* wants a pet for Tad Cooper!). Dean is skeptical.

"Ahem. If I may?" The king didn't wait for anyone's permission, but stepped forward. "Now then, Sir Rooster - "

The cockatrice reared up, fixed its shiny black eyes on the king, puffed its chest out, and began, " _IiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM! IiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM!_ "

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, _stuff it_! We get it, you're a cockatrice. Richard - Uh, Sire - "

Richard beamed at him. "Oh, don't be so formal! Richard will do nicely!" The cockatrice glared at them.

"Whatever. Call him 'Sir Cockatrice', or we'll be stuck here listening to all that droning again." Richard thought a moment, gave Dean an agreeing nod, and started again.

"Now then, Sir Cockatrice." The bird fastened its eyes on him, waited a beat, and settled back into the farmyard dust, placated. "Look. I'd like to take you and your lovely ladies - " The cockatrice preened. " - back home with us. You'd like my dragon! I assure you! It's just...well...we have this tiny problem." It cocked its head, lizard skin creeping halfway across its eyes. It looked suspicious. "We came here following a trail of dead bodies," the king said sternly. "We simply can't have that." With a ruffle and a flurry, the cockatrice ducked its head back, quickly running its beak across its wings to settle already perfectly arranged feathers. It darted its head back for a quick glance, then looked away, fussily guiding its beak through its wings.

The hens surged to their feet, crowding around the cockatrice and Richard's feet. They all started chattering at once. "We were so _hungry_!" "Yes, hungry!" "We asked _nicely_!" "Just some mice, we've eaten all the mice here!" "Or even chicken feed!" "They just stood there!" "They wouldn't feed us!" " _WAFNA_!" "Hungry!" Then all the hens started singing " _WAFNA! WAFNA! WAFNA!_ ", punctuated, again, by the series of crashing chords from the invisible orchestra.

Richard made shushing motions with his hands. "Now, now, ladies, try to calm down! Hush, hush, hush, everything will be all right!" One hen blurted out a last, lone " _WAFNA_!" The king lifted a finger to his lips, saying softly, " _Shhhhh_." The cockatrice darted its head at a few of the hens, who ruffled their feathers and squawked angrily. Then, by ones and twos, they resettled themselves around him, puddling in the dust.

Galavant muttered, "Richard. We can't have livestock at the castle that turns people to stone if they don't get fed in time!" Dean couldn't help but agree. Sid, eyes wide, nodded hastily.

"Yes, well, that's what I'm trying to negotiate here, Gal!" Richard shot him an irritated look, then turned back to the cockatrice, folding his arms and frowning sternly at it. "Sir Cockatrice! You heard him. Why should we trust you to - to - not get huffy? We have twenty dead people out there."

The bird slowly laid the entire length of its neck down in the dust. "We were overcome."

Dean turned to Sam and hissed, "It can _talk_! Without singing! I will be _so_ glad to get back home, where I only hear singing when I _want_ it!" He wasn't quiet enough: four humans, one cockatrice, and a multitude of hens stared at him, offended. He bit his lip and shuffled his feet.

Gareth sniffed loudly. "Yer 'ome sounds mighty dull, mate."

"As you were saying, Sir Cockatrice...?" the king prompted. The cockatrice kept its beady glare on Dean as it replied.

"We were hungry. Our feeders had disappeared. We ventured forth - brave and daring! - to find food. But everyone we encountered seemed surprised that we were talking - "

Sid looked up at the sky and pursed his lips. "Well. Not too surprising, I'd say. It's not every day that you encounter lizard-birds - " The cockatrice hissed. " - let alone talking ones that demand to be fed." He raised his eyebrows at the cockatrice. It raised its crest back at him, then snaked its head back toward Richard, crest feathers settling.

"We would ask repeatedly. They just...stared at us. And...I...got angry." It ended with a mumble. "It happened many times. We swear. Take us with you, feed us, and I will petrify only your enemies!"

Dean leaned back on the fence railing, arms folded. "Yeah, _right_ ," he said skeptically.

The cockatrice started strutting over toward him, crest raised again, hissing quietly. "I swear on my wings and tail!"

Sam edged closer to his brother, eyeing the bird warily. "Uh, Dean..." Dean folded his lips, glared back at the cockatrice, then threw up his hands.

"Okay, _okay_! You swear. I think it's a disaster waiting to happen. But it's not my castle. Y'all go ahead and do whatever you want," he grumped. "At least we solved your mysterious deaths. Nothing you guys couldn't have figured out on your own, though."

Galavant walked over and gave him a good-natured wallop on the shoulder. "Ah, no! I suspect we might never have noticed the tail, and the lizard-skin, until it was too late. Then the kingdom would be out two heroes and a king. I think we got exactly what we asked for."

"Sid! Look for a wagon!" the king called out. "Good birds, we will return shortly, and haul you back to the castle forthwith! And I promise there will be plenty of food."

Sid started for the barn, saying, "Aye, Sire!" He turned around and added, "And sheep!" The cockatrice and his flock followed with excited flutters and squawks.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flock of birdlike monsters is transported to the castle. Dr. Sporin gives his opinion. The cockatrice reveals its name.

After a bit of rummaging, Sid pulled a dilapidated wagon out of the barn. The flock fluttered up and over the railings, settling themselves in the hay strewn across the wagon bed. All six men looked at the wagon with a long silence. Gareth broke it, saying, with an air of resignation, "Right. We 'ave a wagon. Would anybody -- " He paused to pinion each of the other men with grim eyes. "Would _anybody_ like to tell us all just ' _ow_ we're getting said wagon back to the castle?!"

Gareth ended with a glare at King Richard, who coughed and looked at Galavant. Galavant looked at Sid. The cockatrice perched its neck on the wagon railing and glared at everyone, hissing like a tea kettle on the verge of boiling. Dean heaved a sigh.

"Look, guys. I really don't want to ride a horse for another three hours. Soooo...why don't we harness my horse up to the wagon, and I'll drive the damned thing?"

A quick conference, and all assembled agreed it was a viable approach. "Just...uh...one small addition," Galavant said. "Perhaps we should have Sid ride with you?" He scuffed a foot in the barnyard dust and looked away. "Given as you don't have...ahem...much experience with horses, it might be a good idea." Sam grinned.

Dean opened his mouth to protest his abilities, thought about it, then closed it and cocked a finger at Galavant. "Point."

Galavant relaxed and smiled. "Sid! Horses!" Sid had a momentary harried expression at the idea of wrangling six horses, then shrugged and trotted off down the line of petrified bodies. He returned quickly, riding his mount and guiding the rest, reins looped together. A period of fussing followed. While the others mounted up, Dean's horse, indignant at the thought of being made a cart horse, sidled away with bared teeth when Sid tried to harness him up. Some soft flattery, neck rubbing, and an apple ended the rebellion, and the horse submitted, tail flicking and head tossing. Sid clambered up onto the wagon seat next to Dean, grabbed the reins from him, and they all exited the barnyard. Dean could hear the cockatrice and his hens clucking and muttering, then a red and orange crested head poked between him and Sid, beady eyes fixed on the way ahead.

"So...uh...any plans for those bodies?" Dean called out as the group passed the first one.

King Richard pulled up next to the wagon. "We could haul them to the castle to display them -- artistically, of course! -- in the castle gardens...it would be the talk of the Seven Realms!" Enchanted by the idea, his eyes unfocused; he was obviously designing just the right arrangement.

Gareth muttered, "Right. Let's remind everyone that your new flock o' pet birds kills people by turnin' them to stone. Great idea." The king shot him a hurt glance. Dean could see his visions of a statuary garden dissipating.

"I rather think we should return them to their families, to do with what they want," said Galavant, on the other side of the wagon.

"If we do that, sir, maybe we could have the families haul them off themselves?" Sid suggested.

He leaned in toward Dean and whispered, "It's not like we have the equipment to get them all to the castle, or the time to haul them all there and then here and there across the countryside."

The cockatrice had kept its head down on the wagon bench while the discussion took place, watching each speaker with beady eyes, taking it all in. It tapped Dean on the thigh with its beak and murmured just loud enough to be heard, "I swore by wings and tail we wouldn't do anything to anyone except their enemies. What _more_ do they want?" Dean shrugged.

"Dude. You killed people. Just gotta live it down, I guess." He eyed the head next to his thigh. "You're lucky we didn't just lop off your head, y'know. It's what I would've done." Sid, listening in, winced and elbowed him hard. The bird lifted its head, peered at Dean, and hissed. Then the neck and head disappeared back into the bed of the wagon.

"You just _have_ to poke the lion, don't you?" Sid muttered. Dean shrugged again.

The ride back to the castle took longer than the ride out, as the horses had to slow down to keep pace with the wagon. By the time they arrived, Dean was regretting his offer to drive; the wagon seat had been as uncomfortable as riding the horse, just in a different way. His ass might be pounded flat, but at least he could swing off the wagon without falling to his knees, which was a relief. Sam slid off his horse next to him, holding the reins out to a nearby stable hand, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry you didn't ride after all?" he said with a smirk. Dean just rubbed his ass and ground his teeth.

"Nobody likes a smart ass, y'know?"

"Better than a sore ass..." Sam snickered. Dean ground his teeth again, and the two turned to follow the others, who were heading to the main castle door, followed by the irascible cockatrice and his harem of hens. The King was climbing the steps, chatting with Galavant, when the doors were flung open, and a man with neat shoulder-length curls and an immaculate, fussy mustache stood framed in the doorway. Everyone stopped. The cockatrice and hens ran into a wall of ankles, and piled up, fluffing and ruffling, behind them. The cockatrice snaked his head around Sam's ankle to peer at this new person.

"Ah!" Richard exclaimed. "The healer! Dean, Sammy -- "

"Sam!" Sam gritted out. This time, Dean snickered. Sam switched his glare from the king to his brother.

"Yes, yes. Sammy. Allow me to introduce you to the most amazing fellow -- Dr. Neo of Sporin -- " He leaned toward Dean and said, in a quieter voice, "He raised Galavant from the dead. Yes, he did!" He paused, as if expecting Sam and Dean to exclaim in amazement. Not receiving the expected response, he gave them a quick frown, then continued, "After Sid killed him."

"Oi! By accident!" Sid protested. Richard waved a dismissive hand.

"Yes, yes, by accident, you keep reminding us." Dean twitched up an eyebrow. "Anyway. Dr. Sporin is the one who brought you here to us." Dean's eyebrows fell into a deep frown. Sam's jaw flexed. They both glared at the man who still stood posing in the doorway.

"Dr. Sporin! You're just in time! The heroes you collected for us solved the crime! And we have cockatrices now!  A whole flock!" Sporin blinked and looked down at the flock. The cockatrice regarded him with beady eyes. Sporin flinched back.

"Oh, my, oh goodness me, oh dear -- cockatrices?! Are you sure you should have them here?" Sporin asked, wringing his hands.

Galavant slouched, arms crossed, and said, with a weary sigh, "Richard thought Tad Cooper needed a pet. The pet brought his lady friends."

"Really?! But -- but -- but that means -- " The healer leaned forward, and said in a low, warning voice, " -- fledgling cockatrices! Baby balls of fluff that could stun you with a look! Oh, I really do think this could be a bad idea! A -- a disaster! Waiting to happen!" His voice rose at the end.

Dean, who had fallen into a pose remarkably similar to Galavant's, snorted, and said, "That's what _I_ told them!"

"I swore on wings and tail!" The cockatrice strutted forward, raised his crest, and began marching back and forth on the top step between Sporin and the king. Sporin shrank back, looking ready to dart back into the castle and slam the doors behind himself. " _IiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM! IiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM!_ " the lizard-bird started to chant.

" _Words_! Use your fucking _WORDS_!" Dean shouted, out of patience. "No singing!"

The cockatrice spread its wings, snaked its head up and back, and glared at Dean. "I. Am. A. Bird of my word!" it spat out, making each word distinct. Then it ruffled its wings, settled them against its back, and swung its head between the king and the healer, stopping in the middle to hiss loudly at Dean. Dean made a face back at it.

"Chill, Dean..." Sam said in a quiet, admonishing voice.

"Of course you are, Sir Cockatrice," the king said, darting a repressive look at Sporin. "By the way, I do hope you don't mind, but I think I'll just call you Tristan? Much easier to say." This time, the cockatrice hissed at the king.

"I have a name already," it said. It posed proudly, folding one lizard-skinned leg up against the other. "My name is Bold And Vicious Killer Of Ugly Flea-Bearing Rats."

Everyone stared at the bird. Then Richard said, "Yes, well, like I said, Tristan. Much shorter."

"You could always call him 'Vicious'," Dean murmured, eyeing the small monster.

"Or 'Killer'," Gareth mused. "I _like_ 'Killer'."

"You would," Sid said, under his breath.

Richard frowned at them all. "Tristan." There was an air of royal finality to his voice.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is dubious about Dr. Sporin's ability to get them back home. But after sharing an interlude with the healer, he realizes that this nutty place is growing on him.

In a sudden flurry, the group sorted itself out. Sid headed toward the stables, beckoning to Tristan and his hens. The king swept the rest of them into the castle, detailing his plans for the cockatrice in an excited voice to Sporin, who wrung his hands in response. Sam and Dean slid past Galavant, trying to keep near the healer who had brought them here. Gareth trailed after, frowning and murmuring, "'Killer' woulda been a much better name. Suits 'im, it does. 'Tristan'. _Pah_!"

"But - but - but, Your Majesty!" Sporin said in a fussy voice. "Really! Cockatrices?! He doesn't look like a very...patient...bird, Sire. And - and - " He fluttered his hands. "Fledglings! Oh, my!"

"There, there, Neo, everything will be just fine," Richard crooned. "Trust me!" In response, the small man just wrung his hands even more. Dean, watching, figured if he did it much more, he'd wring them off. And, since he really, _really_ wanted to get home, maybe it was time he intervened. On that thought, he reached forward to tug at the little healer's arm as they all entered the throne room.

"So. You're the magic dude who brought us here, eh?" Dean looked down at him with a dangerous glint to his eyes. Sporin flinched.

"Um. Er. Um. Yes?" he quavered, his voice cracking.

Dean poked him squarely in the middle of his chest. "So. You've got a plan to get us back. _Right_?" He poked him again. Sam, as eager as Dean to hear the answer, still thought that intimidating the healer wasn't the best of ideas, so held him back from poking him a third time.

Sporin drew himself up to his full height in the center of the throne room. He tilted his head up haughtily so he could look down his nose at Dean. Dean found himself with a very good view up Sporin's hairy nostrils and did his best to swallow an amused snort.

"Of course!" he sniffed. Then he ruined the effect by adding, "Of course, it's all experimental, and we won't know if it really works until you find yourselves home, but my spell did work to bring you here, so..." He peered at Dean with bright eyes. Talking about his work, it seemed, drained his fear. Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"So what you're saying is we might end up home again...or we might _not_. Have I got that correct?" His voice dripped acid. Sporin flinched momentarily, then returned to his confident mad scientist pose. Music started in the background, the sound of wind and jingling bells. Dean ground his teeth, but then, as it continued, his eyebrows rose. A single steel-stringed guitar played a series of descending notes in groups of four, like a rippling waterfall, that ended in two longer-held notes, then repeated. Dean's eyes widened. Sam tilted his head, listening, and frowned.

"Wait a minute," Sam muttered. "That's not right. Doesn't fit at all!"

Dean grinned at him. " _Hah_! I _know_ this one! And, yes, it _does_ fit in, dammit! You even went with me to see the damned show." Sam shook his head, puzzled. "Dude. 'Rock Of Ages'? Musical with classic rock?" Sam blinked. Dean started strumming air guitar.

The descending waterfall of notes had continued. Sporin ignored them and struck a pose as the throne room lights dimmed and a blue spotlight fell on him. He started wailing with the guitar, " _I brought you here...usin' a special spell..._ " This time, it was Sam who dropped his head into his palm. He groaned.

"It isn't _right_ , dammit!" he muttered. Dean just grinned a manic grin, and continued whaling on the air guitar like all his favorite rockers from the '80s.

Sporin continued, " _To find the fiend...killing all our folks...And y'found 'em...in under a day - and so...I'll work all night..._ " He paused. " _Just to get y'back home._ " He splayed out his arms with his head tilted back, his deep blue cloak shimmering in the spotlight, drooping off his arms. A gout of smoke rose behind him. " _I'm a healer! With a silver bowl I try...to fix 'em -_ "

Dean jigged around with his air guitar to face him and echoed, " _Fix 'em!_ "

Sporin nodded to him. " _Dead or alive!_ " they sang in chorus. Sam just blinked at his brother owlishly and shook his head. Dean could tell he was baffled, but, _damn_! It was just like karaoke night! And with lights and everything! For the first time since they had arrived in this nuthouse, Dean felt willing - and able - to join in the insanity.

The ripple of descending notes played again, bells and wind in the background. Sporin dropped his arms and began singing. " _Sometimes I fail...sometimes I just wanna play...The people I heal...always tryin' to find their way. Sometimes I tell them all...to pay me with a drink...and times I'm alone, I write up spells and think._ "

He struck a pose again. Dean stood back to back with him, the smoke blooming behind them. They sang together, " _I'm a healer! With a silver bowl I try...to fix 'em -_ "

Dean threw his head back and howled, "Fix 'em!"

Sporin's light tenor and Dean's rougher, deeper voice blended: " _Dead or alive! Dead or alive! Dead...or...alive!"_

Wind, chimes, and descending melody rang out one last set of times, the melody trailing off, leaving just the chimes, and then just the wind. Sporin bowed his head, Dean slumped, the blue spotlight vanished, and without warning, everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as it ever was here.

Dean slapped Sporin on the back. "Dude! That was _awesome_!" The smaller man blushed, shuffled his feet, and ducked his head with a shy smile.

"Well. I'll do my best to get the two of you back home, safe and in one piece. Since the theory got you here, it should be enough to get you back." He straightened, ran a finger along his neatly waxed mustache, and added, "And if it doesn't work the first time, well - ! Try, try again, eh?" He nudged Dean with an elbow.

"All right, man!" Dean enthused. He caught Sam's eye, beamed, and bounded over to stand by him.

"Did you see that?! _Damn_! Like - like - being a fucking _rock_ _star_ , Sam!" He looked around the throne room, grinning. "Y'know, I could get to like it here." Sam gaped at him. Dean, about to shuffle around and start singing again, shut his mouth with an audible click and frowned at his brother. "In small doses, mind you! Like - for a visit...now and then...for a day or two..." His voice trailed off.

Sam gripped his elbow and hissed, "Home. Remember? Vamps to kill? People to save? Friends? Jody? Charlie? _Cas_?!" Dean flushed and his shoulders slumped.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed. "Reality. Right. Awesome." This time, the word was not full of enthusiasm. He looked around the throne room, at Galavant lounging against the throne and chatting with Richard, at Sid leading the proud cockatrice in, at Gareth looming grimly beside an awkward young guardsman, making dour comments. He braced his shoulders. "Home. Yeah."

Galavant noticed them, and gestured them forward. "Dean! Sammy!"

Sam's face turned bright red and he gritted his teeth, muttering, "Just how hard is it to use 'Sam' instead?!" They walked to the throne.

"Good news!" Galavant announced as they came close. "Richard and I have been talking, and we've decided to sponsor you as members in the Association of Heroic Knights, _and_ to nominate you for certification as heroes!" He looked absurdly satisfied with himself, as if he had pulled not one, but two, rabbits out of his hauberk. Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Sam shrugged, spreading his hands.

"Well, thanks, I guess," Dean said, raising his eyebrows.

"We'll have Dr. Sporin get the certificates to you, somehow," the king said, beaming. "The least we could do for you two!" He stood up and wrapped and arm around both their shoulders, aiming them at the door to the corridor to the outside. Galavant pulled himself out of his nonchalant slouch and strode after them. "Now. Sid, bring Tristan along!" he called out.

"Yes, Sire!" Sid caroled.

"I want you to be there when we introduce Tristan to Tad Cooper..." Richard said, guiding them out into the castle foreyard. "Two monstrous beasts out of legend! The bards will sing of this meeting!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth insists the cockatrice should be named Killer. Dean and Sam are returned home.

Gareth was fussing over Tristan, leaning over him and fastening a metal chain with a small engraved plaque around his neck. Dean sauntered over, beer in one hand, sausage in the other, to investigate. Tristan arched his neck, angling his head downward to eyeball the plaque. When that didn't work, he snaked his neck to the side and downward, twisting his head almost upside down to focus his beady eyes on it.

"Now, now, bird," Gareth muttered. "Don't make a big fuss over it." He darted a glance toward the king and Galavant, seated at the table with the breakfast food.

Dean crouched down to peer at the engraving. It read, in fancy calligraphy, "Killer". Dean snorted. Tristan - "Killer" - hissed and reared his head back, crest flaring. "Don't get your panties in a wad," Dean told him. "Gareth seems set that you're gonna be named 'Killer', is all." The cockatrice twisted its head down and to the side again. Dean flipped the plaque slightly upward. "Says 'Killer'. Enjoy it."

The cockatrice puffed its chest out and began strutting back and forth before the two men. Dean pointed at him. "Don't you start that damned chanting again!" he warned him. He got up from his crouch and strolled back to the table. Sam and Dr. Sporin had joined the group. Dean ended up beside his brother, who surveyed the breakfast fare with a dismal expression. Dean snickered and elbowed him. "Beer and sausage for breakfast - what's not to like?"

Sam sighed. "Vegetables. Fruit. Smoothies," he said mournfully, pushing his hair out of his face. "I miss them."

Dean washed a bite of sausage down with his beer. "Welp. We'll be back to your rabbit food in no time. Assuming Sporin's spell works."

The plan was to return to where they had first emerged into the Seven Realms after breakfast. The healer would do his thing, and then they'd be back home. Dean found himself feeling wistful about vamps and werewolves and demons, which was a first for him. And his fingers itched to be wrapped around Baby's steering wheel again - no more horses!

They all saddled up, and the crew trotted out the castle gates. Somehow, Killer ended up perched on Gareth's horse, which earned the soldier a small glare from Richard. It seemed that Tad Cooper's "pet" was being co-opted. Dean thought it was actually a good pairing, though he made sure to edge his horse up to Gareth and mutter, "You make sure your friend here doesn't go petrifying anyone, now!" Gareth favored him with a tight grin.

"Arrr. He won't be getting any ideas, now, will you, Killer?" He ruffled the cockatrice's feathers. Killer squawked and pecked at him, then shot an evil glance at Dean.

Dean returned it and pointed a finger at him. "Don't _make_ me come back to this madhouse!" he grumbled. He rode back over to Sam, who was doing his best centaur imitation.

"I'll miss this," Sam said, with a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. "The riding."

"Yeah, well, not me. My balls are beginning to get callouses!" Sam just flashed a smile at him, bent down, and urged his horse into a gallop across the rolling hills toward the forest. Dean shook his head, and stayed with the main group.

At the edge of the forest, King Richard pulled up. Sam came galloping back to join them, and slid off his horse, handing the reins off to Sid, who started staking all the horses down. Neo, after taking his time getting down, set his spell making equipment up on a small folding table Sid magically produced, put on a pair of circular glasses, and began consulting his notes. As he read, he pulled herbs out, examined them, and either shook his head or tossed a pinch into his spell bowl.

"Now, then, Dean," Richard called out. Dean, who had been watching Sporin's halting process with narrowed eyes, jerked, and turned his head. Richard gestured him forward. "And Sammy, too." Sam, resigned by now to the name mix-up, just rolled his eyes. They both moved toward the king, Dean giving Sam a quizzical look. Sam shrugged.

"Gal and I realized there was a problem with your membership in the AHK - " Dean started to wave it off, but Richard gave him a kingly frown. "So we decided to remedy that first. Kneel, Dean." Dean blinked at him.

Galavant's eyes danced with glee, and he grinned. "Go on, kneel!" he urged. Dean slid a look at Sam, who grimaced and shrugged again. He slowly knelt. Richard drew his sword. Dean eyed it nervously; seeing it up close and personal made him realize that it was both very big and very, very sharp. Richard smiled at him, flipped the sword in his hand, and tapped him on his right shoulder with the flat side, then his left.

"Rise, Sir Dean!" Richard commanded. Dean stood up slowly, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Your turn, Sammy!" Richard continued, motioning Sam forward. Sam hesitated, then stepped forward and knelt, and Richard repeated the process, concluding with, "Rise, Sir Sammy!" Sam stood up and reeled over to Dean, who clapped him on the shoulder.

"Knights. Dude, we're _knights_ now!" he chortled.

"Sir _Sammy_!" Sam hissed at him in agony.

"Eh, relax. It's not like anyone back home'll know, y'know?" Dean muttered back.

"So now, when we get the certificates, we'll have Neo here shoot 'em off to you," Galavant crowed. Dean and Sam nodded, both still somewhat dazed.

"Ahem." Neo cleared his throat and peered over the top of his glasses at them. "Are we quite done with this detour?" Richard looked abashed, and nodded. "Well, then! I have everything prepared here. So. Are you ready?" He asked the boys. They both nodded agreement. The healer lifted a hand and began chanting, then threw a lit match into the bowl, which flared up and singed his mustache. He batted at it, waved the smoke away, and peered at the brothers.

"Dean...?" Sam said, his voice wavering.

Dean stared back at Sporin. "Uh. Dude. Nothing happened. We're still here." He began to panic: what if they were stuck here?

Neo folded his arms and snorted. "Of course." He waved to the forest. "Off you go, then!" Dean turned to look at the thick trees, then turned back to the healer. "Tsk. Go, go, go!" Sporin flapped his hands at them.

"Uh. Okay? I guess?" He exchanged a glance with Sam, then headed toward the trees.

"Oi!" Gareth called out. "So long!" Dean twisted back to see him waving.

"Farewell!" King Richard and Galavant sang out, also waving.

" _Auf weidersehen_!" Sid piped up, craning his head around the horses.

"Aaarrrrrrrghhhhh!" Dean yelped. "Goodbye, goddammit!" He strode into the forest, breaking into a run as if demons were after him, Sam at his heels, laughing. He slowed down as they got further down the path, holding his hands over his ears to muffle the sound of the song echoing after them. They stopped for a moment to get their bearings when they reached the clearing with the "Forest of Coincidence" sign. Dean scanned the clearing, then pointed to what he thought was the path out.

"That one?" he asked.

"Think so," Sam responded.

Dean chewed his lips, considering. "Think that last vamp'll still be there?"

"Dunno," Sam said. He reached down for his machete. "Best we just assume it is, right?"

"Right." Dean nodded, pulled his own machete, and they started down the path, which dwindled away to a faint deer trail. The farewell song stopped as if a switch had been flipped, and the woods around them felt different somehow. It was still light, though, and Dean, after thinking, re-sheathed his machete. He pointed. "Too light for vamps. I think we left Baby over there." They strode through the woods, which thinned out before them, and found themselves at the dilapidated house where it had all started, Baby parked in front.

Dean started toward the car, then turned and walked backward for a moment, looking at Sam and shaking a finger at him. "If I never hear another Broadway song again, I'll be a happy camper!"

* * *

 

A week later, Dean wandered into the common room of the bunker to find two scrolls, fastened with thin, elegant golden cords and deep red wax seals, on one of the tables. He yelled for Sam, and waited. When Sam got there, they unwrapped and unsealed them, rolling them open.

Sam read his and winced. "Sir _Sammy_ of Winchester, dammit!" he groaned.

In flowing calligraphy, the one Dean held proclaimed Sir Dean of Winchester a Certified Hero of the Association Of Heroic Knights, and was signed " _Ricardus, Rex Regna Septum"._

.oO END Oo.

**A/N: I probably have the Latin wrong. Anyone studied Latin**?


End file.
